Of Broken Clocks and Second Chances
by Daniko
Summary: The Light has lost. In order to cease hostilities between the Order of the Phoenix and the Death Eaters, a peace treaty must be signed. Is it going to be worth the sacrifice? Slash. Tom/Harry.


**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended – Standard disclaimer.

**Challenge: **Kamerreon's Secret Santa Exchange.

**Gift For: **Emily

**Rating:** R  
**Pairing:** Tom Riddle/Harry Potter  
**Words: **~6,000  
**Summary: **The Light has lost. In order to cease hostilities between the Order of the Phoenix and the Death Eaters, a peace treaty must be signed. Is it going to be worth the sacrifice?  
**Warnings:** Dark; characters' bashing, although subtle. Strong language; implied sexual relationship between two males – slash; spoilers up to OotP; AU after OotP, except two 'small' deaths details. I'll keep the key points from the following books.

**Notes: **Dear Emily, it seemed to me that you wanted something light-hearted and fluffy, I tried to make it work with the pairings you like, but it didn't end up well. So, I bring the pairing, the kinks and the fluff. Not so much humour, though, but believe me you wouldn't want that from me; it hurts people when I try to be funny. Enjoy!

**OF BROKEN CLOCKS AND SECOND CHANCES**

_Even a broken clock is right twice a day._

**Part I**

There was no moon in the sky, but the stars were bright enough for an outsider to distinguish the seven hooded figures making their way up the path that crossed the ghost village.

A lot had changed around these shores in the past few years and, nowadays, no one would pay closer attention to such a group of people, even if they didn't belong to the set. There were much more important things to care about. Not that there was anyone to, mind. Where once had rested a village full of life, children and friendly neighbours, now only abandoned houses, clogged windows and wild gardens could be seen. Likewise, the castle in the distance truly was a ruin. It was no magic trick, no lure to fool the non-magical folk, but just the desperation of the times reaching the most sturdy of constructions.

~~~TR*HP~~~TR*HP~~~TR*HP~~~

Harry Potter sat in the Great Hall at the High Table to the left of the Headmaster; Severus Snape sat to his other side, prim and cool just like always, but his twitching eye sort of ruined the whole holier-than-thou effect. Occasionally, he would spare Harry an unreadable look over the Headmaster's colourful robes. Harry supposed he was commiserating, in his totally stuck-up sort of way, so he commiserated too. It was probably the only time Harry and Snape agreed on something, anyway. That being the fact that Albus Dumbledore had finally gone 'round the bend.

"My fellow warriors," the Headmaster called, standing up.

Harry fought the urge to snort, because, _really_? Dumbledore wasn't a warrior, he didn't fight; he just stood high in the Astronomy Tower and cast protective charms. Like the bloody master-player he was. Snape was not so kind, though, and his derisive sniff echoed through the Great Hall; Sirius Black actually snickered, which made Remus Lupin look up in prayer for patience and maybe some vodka.

Even in face of such blatant – and childish – opposition, Dumbledore only sighed and proceeded. As usual. "Lord Voldemort has approached our side to negotiate an immediate cessation of hostilities." Excited whispers ran through the Hall. "It'll take some sacrifices on both parts, but I believe we can build a new future together, helping each other recover and thrive."

The murmur grew louder until cheers erupted among the four tables. Only Slytherin seemed to understand the meaning of those words and they looked resigned, but hopeful as they clapped.

Harry wanted to scream at them all. Didn't they understand? Were they so blinded by Dumbledore's pretty words and blind faith in the man's goodness of heart that they didn't understand they had lost?

They had lost the bloody war! It was nothing new, really, because _newsflash!_—They had been trapped inside the castle for two years now and the siege seemed nowhere near over and, lucky them, Hogwarts had been built to deal with these kind of emergencies – with Gryffindor's defensive weapons built into the walls and Ravenclaw's secret passages, Hufflepuff's protective wards and Slytherin's secret chambers – but they were trapped, nonetheless, as the Death Eaters and their leader took over Britain. Soon the world would surely follow.

The Ministry had already fallen and Lucius Malfoy was the new Minister. Rabastan Lestrange was the editor of the _Daily Prophet_. Azkaban was empty and all the freaks trapped there had been recruited by the master freak himself. Xenophilius Lovegood had been long gone, trapped under the ashes of his house, thus silencing the only source of truth—and hope—the masses had had.

The regime kept growing stronger under the influence of people like Umbridge and Thicknesse, while Harry kept pulling at his hair, trying to figure out how to finish this, how to win their freedom back, but their units were being cornered into Hogwarts every time and people kept vanishing without a trace. They had started with roughly two hundred Order members and respective families and now they were less than half of that.

Harry wasn't sure if he should pray—to anyone who would listen; he wasn't picky—that they hadn't been captured or that they hadn't left of their own volition. Like Ron. That would be so much worse, because it meant they had lost faith. A lot of them had. In fact, of the Weasleys, only Molly, Arthur and the twins stayed, marred beyond help at their family's betrayal.

Still, there was more or less a hundred people trapped inside the great Hogwarts' halls and the world didn't seem to notice. Or maybe they just didn't care. It was a common illness in the approaching of the twenty-first century. Harry hated it, just like he hated that, in his few raids outside Scotland, people didn't seem to mind nearly as much as he thought they would that their world had been taken by a raving lunatic hell-bent in slaughtering a seventeen-year-old boy.

Sometimes, he even thought they looked contented at being told what to do and what to be. Even Muggle-borns . . . Even Hermione. She'd taken to her position as the Minister's personal assistant rather well, all things considered. He supposed it _was_ something that Voldemort recognised worth where it was due. . . .

It seemed that Dumbledore wasn't through with his speech, though. "I'll ask a little understanding on your behalf and that you respect the imposed lockdown." His eyes rested briefly on the twins. "It's a safety measure. Until every member of the Dark faction has left the grounds, no one is to step outside one's quarters."

The whole lot of implications in that statement hit Harry like a bucket of cold water. "It's going to be _here_?" he demanded over increasing noise. Silence ensued almost immediately, everyone having got quite used to the constant fights among their leaders. Usually, it featured Black and Snape. The latter had his eyes dangerously narrowed, as a matter of fact, but his glare wasn't aimed at Black—or even Harry—for once. His eyes were trained on the Headmaster's lean figure.

"I'm afraid so, my boy. Weren't you listening?" He left it at that, but Harry had become quite adept at reading Dumbledore. Whatever they had blackmailed him with, Dumbledore had had no choice but to open their home to this mockery of a peace treaty. Even sympathising with Dumbledore's hardships and responsibilities, Harry refused to speak with the Headmaster throughout the remainder of the week. By the look on Snape's face, he hadn't been the only one.

~~~TR*HP~~~TR*HP~~~TR*HP~~~

The ominous entourage moved slowly and steadily up the stony path that led to the castle on the hill, their spirits high as a kite in face of their sure victory. Their hearts beat as one, their dreams and hopes harmonic in essence, and their faith complete and utterly deposited on the man in charge. They believed in him and they were willing to do anything to prove it. They already had, several times before, no matter how dark times got, and the few that had vacillated were punished and forgiven sometimes, but they'd never share this ecstasy of making history.

The first woman was humming happily, almost skipping ahead with a swing on her hips, sure of her place at her master's right side.

It wasn't just that they would have won for sure after tonight – they had known it was only a matter of time for a while now – but also the radiating energy coming from the leader; they didn't know everything, of course not, but they knew that, if their leader was even capable of it, he would be _happy_.

The first man, the Master, chuckled gleefully. He was home.

~~~TR*HP~~~TR*HP~~~TR*HP~~~

Harry sat fidgeting on Dumbledore's left side at the High Table, arms crossed over his chest, while Snape took his right, shoulders stiff and face suspiciously blank. Sirius and Remus occupied the two seats on Harry's left, as if guarding him, and Mad-Eye Moody and Kingsley were farther down on Snape's side. Dumbledore himself sat on the centre chair primly, sipping his tea as if Harry hadn't just thrown the biggest fit in the History of Fits when Dumbledore had merely hinted that Harry should take the central place. As if nothing untoward was about to happen. Except that it _was_.

Seemingly summoned by Harry's thoughts, Fawkes appeared in the doorway to announce the visitors. He flew to Dumbledore's shoulders and perched there to mark his place. Harry didn't understand until the massive python slithered into the room, down the steps and towards the ritual table in the centre. Seven people followed, their faces obscured by their cloaks, but their good mood sent unpleasant chills down Harry's back.

"I wonder what you were thinking, Headmaster," Harry head Snape whisper to Dumbledore, "to sit the Top Three of his killing list right in front of him. You must want to end this in a blood-bath."

Now that Harry thought about it, he felt himself go a bit faint. Not that he was afraid—he was well past that point—but to just sit there and feign nonchalance when he wanted nothing more than to make use of the most vicious hexes in his repertoire would be a form of torture. To gaze in the eyes of his parents' killer and do nothing! Not fighting, not running, just sitting still.

Harry licked his lips and swallowed thickly, his mouth suddenly very dry: he was sure the red eyes of his nightmares were fixated on his face; he could _feel_ it. Something akin to heat lit up inside the room and the Death Eaters shifted excitedly.

Dumbledore just kept on twinkling merrily, without taking his gaze from the train of people taking their seats. "Tom is a child in many ways, Severus; nothing will upset him more than our indifference," he explained lightly, before getting up and gesturing to the seats in front of them, just as the ancient wards of Martial Law dissolved into nothingness. "Tom, my boy! Welcome, welcome." He even sounded as if he meant it, Harry thought, astonished. "Do be seated."

"I often wonder about your sanity, Dumbledore," Lord Voldemort said, leaning forward slightly, his tone touching something deep inside of Harry's mind, something that sent warning bells ringing dangerously. "You must be under the illusion this is actually a social call. It is not, so why don't we go right down to business, hm?"

Dumbledore sighed. "Your disrespect for magical protocol never ceases to amaze me, Tom. One day, you'll have to answer for it all." The Death Eaters chortled and Voldemort hissed a laugh. Dumbledore seemed unaffected as he proceeded to sip the rest of his tea. "Let us not lose time, then. What is your proposition? We're hardly in a position to make one, now, are we?"

Voldemort took off his hood with deliberate slowness and Harry could not contain his gasp for the life of him. Neither did Sirius, at that. Snape only narrowed his eyes speculatively.

Voldemort looked human, beautiful and deathly in an expensive set of robes, just like when he was twenty years old and trying to charm an old woman to sell Hufflepuff's Cup. He looked incredibly smug in the face of their wonder and Harry had to look away as the young Tom Riddle suddenly materialised before his eyes. That was when he noticed that the rest of the Death Eaters had taken off their masks.

Bellatrix was sitting at Voldemort's right, looking as if she belonged nowhere else, her corset too tight to leave anything to imagination, and her husband and brother-in-law on the two seats next to hers. Rabastan was smirking at Sirius, as if they were sharing a private secret. Sirius looked thunderous. In front of Snape was Barty Crouch Jr. in his velvet vest and pinstriped trousers, looking as prim as ever, and, next to him, the Carrow siblings sat silent and watchful like the keepers they were.

"Quite done with the ogling, baby Harry?" Bellatrix drawled, leaning forward until her cleavage was impossible to miss. Sirius growled and Harry looked down to avoid the view.

Voldemort was watching him out of the corner of his eye, but looked ahead when Harry looked up. "Tsk, tsk, Dumbldore. This meeting is not for children." He gave a pointed look at Kingsley and Mr Weasley. "Or blood-traitors. I'll forgive the werewolf because he has good taste, at least." His entourage laughed as Remus growled lowly in his throat.

Harry narrowed his eyes. "It's been _children _who've beaten you over and over again, Riddle," he spat. "It's only because you won't face me man to man that you're winning."

Voldemort didn't look at him as he replied, not taking his eyes from the Headmaster's face that was morphing into a contemplative frown. "Can you blame me, Dumbledore? I would hardly risk defeat just to prove myself. That's what Gryffindors do," he added sweetly, baring his white perfect teeth in an uncanny smile. "Now, where were we?"

"The proposition, Tom," Dumbledore said, almost kindly.

"Yes, Bella, if you would," Voldemort hinted, leaning back on his chair, eyes trained on Dumbledore.

Bellatrix began reciting the agreement. Immediate cessation of any hostilities, cessation of any slander against the regime, magical binds on the Light members' wands, delivery of the traitors—Voldemort's gaze settled on Snape, an evil smirk curling his lips—delivery of anything that could be used against the regime, deactivation of Hogwarts' wards, abandonment of Hogwarts' grounds. In exchange, their lives would be spared and they would be allowed to seek asylum elsewhere.

Dumbledore stared for a moment, face impassive, before saying, "No." The six Death Eaters looked murderous, but Voldemort just smirked. "That's not what you want, is it?" Even Bellatrix looked confused at her Master's calmness.

Voldemort let out a mockery of a long-suffering sigh. "I suppose you are right, Dumbledore. I can be _flexible_." His voice dripped sarcasm. Dumbledore seemed to have lost all of his cheerfulness. "I was trying to be kind for your sake, but I guess I can make a final suggestion." All of them took a deep breath, waiting for the outcome, even the Death Eaters. "I want Harry Potter."

They all froze.

Harry felt like smiling. He had always known he would not survive the war. He supposed that he even welcomed it: he was starting to get a bit tired of fighting. It was one hell of a price to pay for peace.

"What do you offer in return?" asked Dumbledore at last.

That seemed to break Snape out of his reverie, because he looked at Dumbledore as if seeing the man for the first time. "Albus, you cannot possibly be considering—?"

Dumbledore lifted a hand as if to silence him, but Harry suspected that he had cast a Silencing Charm instead, because there was no way Snape had actually complied—not when he looked like that. Remus had a hand over Sirius' chest, trying to keep him in place. Harry suspected it was the only thing keeping Sirius from taking his godson and fleeing. Snape would have helped, too.

Voldemort looked elated. "You'll think it quite an appealing deal, Dumbledore. I'd let all of you go"—he sobered momentarily and something deep and hot shone in his red eyes— "if only I keep the boy."

Dumbledore sipped his tea as he waited for Voldemort to finish. "There are a lot of talented people inside this castle, Dumbledore. I want them out there, living their lives and working to make our superior race true to our best. You'd all have to be monitored for a while, but not for long. The seven of you can remain at Hogwarts, teaching. You can even keep the Headmaster position, as long any final decisions go through me first."

As he kept speaking, Voldemort's face began to glow at the prospect, all self-control gone. Harry began to see what others had seen before him: a man with faith. "We will present a united front to the world; we'll take ourselves to the heights we once inhabited. Just imagine, no crime, no poverty, no sickness, everyone happy, safe and sound. No orphans, no sadness . . ."

Dumbledore looked immensely sad. "At the expense of freedom, Tom? It didn't work with Gellert Grindelwald; why would it work with you?"

"Grindelwald was weak." All the previous excitement seemed to have left Voldemort.

Dumbledore huffed a humourless laugh. "That, he was not." He seemed to remember himself then, because he levelled a look at Voldemort. "All that in exchange for Harry's life?"

Voldemort smirked, glancing at Harry. "So to speak."

"Just wait a second," Harry protested, "I have some demands, too. In exchange for my life, that is."

Voldemort turned to face him, and Harry felt a bit overwhelmed at having Voldemort's full attention on him for the first time that night. It made him lightheaded. "Oh? And what are they, Harry Potter?"

Harry steeled himself against his nerves and stared right back. "A fair justice system. The release of our comrades that you have locked up in Nurmengard. Kingsley Shacklebolt for Minister." The man in question grunted in surprise. "No senseless deaths, the Unforgivables remain unforgivable. Then you can have me."

Voldemort looked at Harry contemplatively. "Does Kingsley Shacklebolt swear loyalty to the regime?" The Death Eaters' faces went slack. Harry could relate; he felt frozen by the fact that Voldemort was actually contemplating his demands; he expected a bit more of a fight. Even so, he nodded, pretending not to notice Kingsley slumping on his chair in shock. "Furthermore, my Death Eaters are going to be spared that last one."

"Only the ones you trust. Only these six," Harry countered. "No Muggle-born genocide."

"As long as they reproduce within the wizarding-folk," Voldemort growled.

Harry nodded. "Okay."

Voldemort blinked twice, before asking, "Do we have an agreement?" Harry nodded, swallowing thickly. "Very well. I suggest another meeting two weeks from now, so that I can create the first draft of the agreement." Harry nodded again, as it seemed his throat had stopped functioning. "We shall sort the details then."

Harry looked down and, just because he had to know, asked, "What are you going to do to me?"

Voldemort smiled crookedly. "You shall see, Harry Potter."

**Part II**

"Bugger!"

The other part looked only mildly annoyed. "I rather think that would be traumatic for everyone present, dear boy." Some of the paintings hanging on the walls paled in harmony. Severus did not want to contemplate why. "Not to mention that my exhibitionist streak was largely compensated during my boyhood. Now, back to the matter at hand—"

"I don't care; I'm going to tell the boy! We can still—"

"Severus," Dumbledore said simply and Severus fell silent. "It's a matter of time before Hogwarts bows to Tom's will. He's managed to get his hands on the Founders' artefacts and, besides, it was Tom who requested this meeting. The Gryffindor way has failed us, dear boy. Let us try Slytherin's. Lemon drop?"

~~~TR*HP~~~TR*HP~~~TR*HP~~~

Harry stared at his knees, while the world around him exploded in whirlpool of exalted words and what had to be empty threats. He felt a heavy hand on his shoulder and looked up to see Remus sparing him a gentle smile. "Don't worry. They'll take care of it, alright?" he said, before heading up towards the podium where the High Table was set, leaving Harry sitting alone at the Gryffindor table. He wanted to believe Remus, but he didn't think he could.

Sirius and Snape were taking turns at yelling at Dumbledore.

"The fuck he is, Dumbledore! I'll be damned if—"

"Potter marrying the Dark Lord, Albus? I won't allow you—"

"To put such responsibility on my godson's shoulders! Ha! I'd sooner vanish with him, and you know I could. I bet even—"

"I'd help the mutt, Albus, I swear I would. I've sworn to you that I would protect the boy as long as it was in my power to do so, and that means from you, too, Headmaster."

"Marry him to his James and Lily's killers, Dumbledore?" Sirius repeated, throwing his hands in the air. "That's it! I'll have you know, Dumbledore . . ."

Harry didn't quite hear the rest of it, because he felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up to stare into Luna Lovegood's bright eyes. "Hello, Harry," she greeted, a hand on her reindeer-antlers headband. Then, there was the fake red nose. "I see we've hit a crossroad, huh?" She gestured towards the High Table, where Sirius was still yelling at Dumbledore with his hands on his hips, while Snape kept helpfully butting in, only to make Sirius more incensed and Dumbledore cast him annoyed glances.

Finally taking his eyes off the three men arguing, Harry slid to the side to let Luna sit next to him. "Is it about Tom Riddle's proposal?" Harry's head snapped at her. "He had a ring with him last time he was here."

"How do you know?" Harry asked, because regardless of the incongruence of Lord Voldemort buying wedding rings, how could Luna possibly know what the man carried in his pockets?

"Oh, wedding rings are blessed by the gods. They always emit a very specific energy, especially if they are bought with feeling."

"Even if it's hatred?" he indulged her, though he was sure she wouldn't notice the sarcasm.

Luna threw her head back and laughed. "Tom Riddle doesn't hate you, Harry." She wiped a tear from the corner of her eyes as her mirth drained away and she looked at him very seriously. "But he hates himself—very much so. He's also very afraid of you. You'll have to show him tons of love if you want to help him."

It was Harry's time to laugh, but it wasn't a beautiful sound like Luna's. It was sad and desperate. Luna looked pained. "Don't do that, Harry. You shouldn't fake laughter. It's bad for your soul. How do you think Tom Riddle got that way?"

That was when Harry made his decision. Looking at Luna's straightforward face, he decided that she would never need to fake laughter or quiet down the odd truths that always came out of her mouth and he wouldn't let anyone take that glow out of her eyes; because if that happened, Merlin helped them all.

The Eastern Clock of the East Wing announced Twilight, even though it was just past suppertime.

"Oh, great! It's almost time for sunset. You should go see it sometime, but you should go to the Astronomy Tower if you chose to do so. It's where the light hits the castle the best and you known what they say about sunset."

Already regretting his question, Harry asked, "What do they say?"

Luna smiled conspiratorially. No one would say she had taken down numerous Death Eaters in a battlefield. "Oh, it's the moment when you can actually see your heart's desire, didn't you know?" And she was gone with a swirl of her red skirt, which strangely reminded Harry of his nightmare's eyes.

~~~TR*HP~~~TR*HP~~~TR*HP~~~

The wedding day dawned dreary and charged with hot energy that predicted a storm. Inside Hogwarts, the mood was miserable for those who remained, and very few had.

As soon as the treaty had been signed, every one of its inhabitants had been released and taken home by an entourage of Death Eaters, each more menacing than the previous, but they had been returned their rightful wands and freedom.

The Weasleys had left after many hugs and best wishes, but still as if they couldn't get away from Harry fast enough. They probably thought they had given more than their share for the cause already. In a way, they had, so Harry didn't resent them for wanting to leave. It was best if they left while they could, lest something happen and, around Harry, things usually _happened_.

Kingsley had given Harry a bear hug and promised to return the day after the wedding to discuss a few things, but he really needed to take hold of the Ministry's affairs before Lucius destroyed what was left of their world, while many other Order members returned to their posts inside of the institution, many of them cracking their knuckles menacingly at the prospect of handling some of the Auror wannabes that had taken their jobs. Mad-Eye Moody was the head of the movement.

Luna stayed, though. "I don't have anywhere to go right now, Harry. You need me most, I think."

Harry really appreciated that, because he didn't think he could have gone without her humming the nuptial song while Sirius smashed crockery and Snape brewed every poison known to man, even if she insisted that he _must_ wear white— "You shouldn't disrespect the rituals, Harry! It makes Lady Magic rather loathe you, you know? She can be a downright bitch when wizards use Her wrong and we haven't been very nice to each other lately." —and braided flowers in his hair, all of which he took off later when she wasn't looking. He kept the white velvet robes, though.

Harry indulged her mainly because it kept her happy, but he had to bite his tongue many times when she would start ranting about how beautiful everything would look if they just did things the proper way and had a reception for their closest friends. "My friends have kind of deserted me, Luna, in case you haven't noticed," Harry had pointed out then, his mood having grown bitter and with no signs of stopping anytime soon.

Luna had frozen, one of her hands in his hair and another holding a lily. "Ron and Hermione are not your only friends, Harry. I think Neville would be hurt if you said that in front of him."

Horror dawned on Harry. "Luna, you know I—"

She smiled. "Don't be silly, Harry, of course I know. But neither I nor Neville could possibly make up for Ron and Hermione, just like they couldn't make up for us. It's okay. Once you give a piece of your heart to someone, you can't get it back, you know? That's a good thing, really. Just imagine if you had given it whole to Ron and Hermione: what would you have now? Just a dried rock like Tom's… Oh, look! It's almost time."

Harry found himself taken to the Great Hall where Voldemort's most faithful were waiting on one side and Sirius, Lupin and Snape on the other. Dumbledore was on the dais, waiting to perform the ceremony, twinkling like a madman in face of what would surely be the Chernobyl of the decade.

When the Eastern Clock announced Noon, Harry was married.

~~~TR*HP~~~TR*HP~~~TR*HP~~~

"You're insane, Dumbledore," Sirius breathed.

The aforementioned man just smiled and sipped his tea quietly, before supplying, "I've already heard it all from Severus, my boy. Tom wants to teach; I know he does. And he'll do anything for Harry, even give up all of this rebellious nonsense. Love and purpose, that's all a man wants and dear Tom has been searching for it for too long."

"Rebellious nonsense? You think this is just like giving detention to your students, Dumbledore?" Sirius demanded, too shocked at Dumbledore's coldness to be any angrier. "It's my godson's life!"

"You'll find that they are quite suited to each other. I've a six-sense for these things. If you don't believe me, ask Miss Lovegood. Now, lemon drop?"

~~~TR*HP~~~TR*HP~~~TR*HP~~~

Harry delayed it the best he could, but Snape kept offering him cyanide and Sirius looked torn between forcing it down Harry's throat and hexing Snape for daring to suggest such a thing. Lupin kept spiking his tea, even though Harry kept throwing it into the fireplace at the first taste of Scotch. The minutes went by.

At last, Harry had got up and hugged them all, before heading towards his new quarters.

Voldemort had insisted on a joint bedroom and Dumbledore had suggested the East Tower, just below the broken Eastern Clock. Harry had his own study, comfortable and his, and Voldemort had his own, even though they shared a bathroom. As Harry saw it, he could spend his day away from his dear husband if he so chose, even if he couldn't stay away at night. He had already resigned himself to a life of sleeplessness.

Voldemort was waiting for him when he arrived. Harry found he couldn't move from the doorway for the life of him, his eyes shifting towards the six objects on top of the mantelpiece—a golden cup, a silver diadem, a golden locket, a sword, a ring and a leather-bound notebook. The Horcruxes. Harry's legs wouldn't carry him; then, he realised he was shaking and he couldn't help but to lose himself into those bottomless red eyes that were watching him. Hungrily. There was so much hunger and desperation in that look that Harry could only believe he was seeing things.

"Harry Potter," Voldemort whispered, lowly and dangerously, before pointing his hand straight at Harry, and Harry was hit by a surge of magic he was well acquainted with.

Immediately, Harry felt the world expand and compress and burst with sensation. He collapsed against the door when the rush of sensation hit him, his body growing hot and his thoughts slipping away. When Voldemort took hold of his arms, Harry wanted to cry with the sheer loveliness of it: to be so close to someone who cared so much; when he was pressed into the bed and relieved of his innocence, the world dissolved into nothing but pleasure and love.

**Part III**

Harry woke up to the sound of someone retching violently in the _en suite_ bathroom. He was out of the bed and across the room in a second, throwing the door of the bathroom open and striding inside, ready to help. He collided with the image of Voldemort crouched in front of the toilet, head resting against the white porcelain; he was shivering and his complexion was of one of sickly green.

"Uh," Harry tried, as he couldn't very well turn his back on Voldemort—evil people weren't supposed to get sick, after all—only to find himself at the usual end of Voldemort's wand. He flushed as the memories of the previous night assaulted him, but, instead of the disgust and dread he was supposed to be feeling, only warmness flowed. "What the hell did you do to me last night?" he demanded, momentarily sidetracked.

Voldemort blinked, but didn't put his wand away. "I'm afraid you misunderstand. I don't even know you, boy."

Harry froze. "Excuse me?" There was something very wrong happening and the least of it was that his husband was the freak that had been trying to kill him for what felt like forever, which didn't bode well. "You—you don't remember me?" It didn't feel quite as liberating as it should.

Tom paled, his gaze shifting towards Harry's left hand ring finger, where his wedding ring shone, and then to his own hand where its match rested. He looked like he was about to vomit again. "I'm married?" When his eyes lifted again, Harry was confronted with a very light gray—not red—beautiful and confused. "I'm afraid I don't remember your name."

"It's Harry Potter," Harry said reflexively. "And yours is Tom—Tom Riddle."

"I know my name," Tom snapped prickly. Harry gave him a look, and Tom took his haughtiness down a notch—only a notch, mind. "The last thing I recall is going to bed in my flat in London. I'd just" —he stopped abruptly, leaving Harry to wonder just whose day had been the last in Tom's memory. "It doesn't matter. What day is it?"

Harry motioned into the bathroom, just to have anything to do with himself rather than stand there and gap, and wetted one of the purple towels in the hamper and handed it to Tom, before leaning against the sink. "It's the first of November of 1997." Yes, dear Voldemort had wanted to get married on Halloween. Harry supposed he had been just a tiny bit thankful for it: at least that way, he could damn only one day of the year for his tragedies.

"1997?" Tom demanded, "I'm seventy?"

Harry hummed. He hadn't known it had been quite that long since the devil's spawn made it into the world. "Yes, I suppose you are. You look like you're about thirty, though."

Tom pressed the wet towel against his neck and exited the bathroom, passing by Harry without touching him. In their bedroom, his eyes scanned the room, finally setting on the mantelpiece of the fireplace. Harry gasped when he peeked over Tom's shoulder. The six Horcruxes had shrivelled until there was nothing left but sad old relics that spoke of loss and condemnation. Tom touched Hufflepuff's Cup. "I made them?" he asked, voice low and solemn.

Harry could only praise Tom's intelligence. "You did."

Tom whirled around to look at him. "What am I doing with you, then?"

That was the moment. The Clock announced Dawn. The stars were high in the sky.

Harry could have lied just enough to end the menace of Voldemort for good—saying everything was all right while he called Dumbledore to end the service—or he could have drawn his wand and taken advantage of the fact that Voldemort… Tom trusted the ring on his finger enough to let his guard down around Harry. Or he could have told the truth and_ then_ draw his wand to get revenge—for his parents, for his life, for the fact that everyone always shoved him towards Voldemort, as if that was his place—usually, to fight him.

All of this crossed his mind. All of this seemed acceptable for just a moment.

In the end, there was something that seemed more important to Harry than all of it. The fact that he had slept peacefully for the first time in his life, safely tucked into a nice pair of arms that could have been his mother, or father, or any of those people that were supposed to care for you before themselves; his heart didn't feel heavy for the first time since he had learned about the prophecy, and his mind seemed light and well-rested.

It was like taking a deep breath after five minutes underwater and Harry knew how that felt. It was like _not_ being alone. So, Harry did something he thought would be much harder: he lied for his own sake. "I thought you did. You said you did. I knew about all the Horcruxes and everything, but I always thought you loved me more." He tried to shed some tears, but that was pushing it.

"Is that why I threw everything away? I had to have known." Harry's mind went blank. He supposed that would have made sense to Hermione, but he thought better with his heart, anyway. Tom rolled his eyes. "You're painfully obvious—Harry. You don't know what I am talking about; I didn't tell you," he said, as if he had just realised it.

Harry had taken enough thrashings from Uncle Vernon to know when to feign confusion. "Tell me what?"

Tom pulled Harry closer to him, looking deep into his eyes, and it took much of Harry's self-control not to tense up, but it wasn't as hard as it should have been considering who they were. "You're my soul mate, Harry. I've known I have one since I could feel my magic for the first time. It was incomplete." Harry supposed that explained many of Voldemort's choices. "So, you see, my soul wasn't mine to destroy and now that I've accepted you—by consummating our bond—it's been put in its place: shared between you and me." He smiled and pecked Harry's lips.

"Oh," was all Harry could think of saying. Because, even if Tom thought Harry had bonded with him of his own free will, it didn't change the fact that 1) they were soul mates, and 2) that Voldemort had loved him before the actual consummation. It was… oddly reassuring. He'd never been truly alone.

"I must love you a lot, Harry Potter."

~~~TR*HP~~~TR*HP~~~TR*HP~~~

The two figures stood by the lake, basking in the moonlight.

"You've been using the Lady Magic wrong, Headmaster. Taking advantage of love and luck and faith for your own purposes. She'll take revenge, someday."

"You'd know, Miss Lovegood. Beautiful night, isn't it?" Dumbledore chuckled.

"Hm," Luna mused, "you've been faking laughter for a long time, haven't you, Headmaster?"

"Yes; since Grindelwald, actually. Lemon drop?"

**Epilogue**

Christmas Eve was spent making love by the fireplace, wrapped in a fluffy blanket to ward sweaty bodies against the December cold that seeped through the stone walls. Harry arched up with the force of his own orgasm; Tom held him down, as he spilled his own passion into Harry. They held onto each other tightly long after the fireplace went cold and the candles burn out.

The Clock above them struck Midnight.

THE END


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